


Radio Voice

by ElwritesFanworks



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Canon Gay Character, Masturbation, Other, Radio, Silly, Voice Kink, circumcized!Arcade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-13 07:50:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/821813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElwritesFanworks/pseuds/ElwritesFanworks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arcade Gannon gets off on Mr. New Vegas's radio broadcasts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Radio Voice

**Author's Note:**

> I like Mr. New Vegas. I like Arcade Gannon. I like silly things like this.
> 
> (I also like Black Books which has that whole scene with Fran and the radio voice guy, which was part of the inspiration for this.)
> 
> ***THIS IS A ONE-SHOT EXISTING SEPARATELY FROM MY OTHER FALLOUT FIC***

* * *

  
Arcade had long ago stopped caring about any effect that masturbation once had on his now-tattered dignity. The act itself didn’t concern him as much as the subject matter – but when lovers were few and far between, and you ran the risk of being linked to a hated political faction the minute you dropped trou, you learned to cherish the rare occasions you had to whip it out and self-abuse in peace.

Still, it was one thing to look at dirty books some travelling salesman peddled from some long-dead-and-forgotten nobody’s sordid personal pre-war library, or to fantasize about some good-looking drifter who made eyes at you for a discount on a medical exam, and it was quite another to turn your radio down low and pump your pecker to the honeyed tones of Mr. New Vegas himself.

Yet that is exactly what Arcade found himself doing.

The first time had been an accident, really. He’d had a few moments of privacy and couldn’t be bothered to waste them turning off the radio. He’d been desperate for some personal time, and was right at his peak when that voice cut in with **"This is Mr. New Vegas, fanning the flames of your passion."**  
  
He hadn’t come that hard in a long time.

The second time with just a test, for science; Arcade was curious about whether he had actually responded to the voice, or simply been particularly eager to get off. (In his defense, it had been a slow week, and you could really only study the thread count of all the bandages in a first aid kit for so long.) The next time he had a moment, he turned the radio on, slicked up his cock and palm with spit, and started to touch himself. When the song ended and Mr. New Vegas’s voice came in with a **"you look extraordinarily beautiful right now"** and Arcade arched up off the cot and actually pulled a muscle in his back in the throes of orgasm.

The third time had been a long while ago.

He’d honestly lost count of how many times he'd done this, and it was becoming a problem – if anyone at the Old Mormon Fort had a radio on and tuned in to Radio New Vegas, Arcade would be sporting a raging hard-on in a matter of seconds. It interfered with his work, and was humiliating, to boot. He had accidentally conditioned himself to associate that (warm, gravelly, _sexy_ ) voice with the act of pleasuring himself, and now the association would not go away.

_This is the last time,_ he thought, his fingers sliding up under his t-shirt to pull on a nipple one minute, gliding down over his abdomen, down to rub his balls and tease his perineum and trace around his entrance. He bit his collar, worrying the sweat-stained fabric in his teeth.

**“Have you ever been in love with a celebrity? Don't be shy... I feel it between us too... Sometimes you can't help being _Mad About the Boy…”_**

_Damn it, no, not a song –_ he was right there, so close, and that shrill woman’s voice was causing all the wrong responses. He pumped himself faster, trying to stay interested, trying to imagine something – a body, pressing him down into his mattress, a tongue probing between his cheeks, the smell of a man’s sweat when he was balls-deep down your throat – and finally, _finally_ the song was ending –

**“Welcome back to the program. This is Mr. New Vegas, and I hope I'm not coming on too strong.”**  
  
Arcade swallowed a groan as his come spilled over his fist, splattering his stomach and thighs. He couldn’t bother to aim – he couldn’t think, could barely move, every cell in his body screaming for him to surrender completely to the voice on the radio.

It took five minutes for him to catch his breath and work up enough energy to shut the radio off. He sighed, wiped his hand off on his shirt, which he tossed to the floor, and rolled over to sleep, his limbs feeling like they weight about a thousand pounds, each.

He tossed and turned for a few minutes before sitting up with a grumble – the air felt strangely empty, too quiet. Arcade turned the volume down and switched the radio back on, and flopped back down on his stomach.

**“It's me again, Mr. New Vegas, reminding you that you're nobody 'til somebody loves you. And that somebody is me. I love you.”**

 Arcade bit his lip as an answering endearment tried to escape him – tattered though it was, he still had some dignity left. Still, a smile wouldn’t hurt anybody, and he hid his grin in his pillow as he drifted off to sleep.


End file.
